Chapter 17

Chapter

Seventeen

Two weeks earlier…

It might be my birthday, but this party isn't for me.

The banquet hall's décor feels more like a debutant ball than a birthday party. A DJ plays classics—and by classics, I don't mean classic rock. This shit predates rock and roll by like a millennium. Venetian waltz, anyone?

Twinkly fairy lights shine overhead, showcased in pink gauze like they've been ripped out of a six-year-old's dream palace. Crystal goblets and rose-tinted plates surround large flower arrangements. The scent of roses can't hide the underlying char of spent magic that seems to cling to some of the guests like a bad cologne.

I'm only twenty-eight, but everyone around me acts like I'm sitting in death's waiting room anticipating my appointment. Most women my age are still enjoying the spoils of spring break and drunken mistakes. And their parties look nothing like mine. Very few of them are thinking about mortality.

Not that this crowd understands what it means to be human or the milestones that come with age.

More than one has asked me what it means to be human, what it's like to walk around with that kind of short expiration date tattooed across my soul. I never know what to say. They act like I'll have some profound truth. The only truth I know is we're all bumbling around. Humanity is nothing but a collection of small moments and big dreams.

I guess I could tell them humanity is a series of stupid, little mistakes we never learn from. Like that first drunken bender…the fourth, the fifteenth…

And this next one since tonight is shaping up to be a doozy.

I snatch a champagne glass off a passing tray and sit by myself at an empty dinner table. I'm hidden beside a wall behind a large floral centerpiece. It seems I've spent my entire life watching the supernatural crowds. There's a gift table loaded down with presents, but I won't open them. My mother's staff will take care of all of that.

So, what is my profound truth? What moments define me?

I toss back the full contents of the glass and instantly start looking for another. Seeing Annabeth, I return to my hidden seat. The succubus slept with my ex, Jasper, while we were still together. He was the stupidest waste of three years.

Gee, thanks for that, mother. Who else did Lady Astrid invite? The kids who used to torment me and pick on me? How about the six other women Jasper had affairs with? Oh, or Jasper himself. Wouldn't it be fun if we gathered all my ex-boyfriends into one party?

I think about the secret teenage boyfriend whose name I was too embarrassed to whisper out loud, not even to my closest friends. In reality, the only thing wrong with him was that he was mortal from a middle-class family. My mother would have hated those facts. My next boyfriend was imaginary. He was a magazine-insert poster I hung on my wall of a teenage heartthrob that prompted endless familial teasing. I fantasized that he'd magically step off the paper to whisk me away. I tore him down after a week as if I didn't even deserve a fantasy.

The memories make me sad because they remind me of how lonely I've always felt, how isolated.

I scan the crowd, trying to speculate who the oldest guest is. You can't always tell by looking at them. Seeing a wizard who could probably recall the 1100s with ease, I know no one would treat him like he is on borrowed time.

I've spent my entire life worried about what all these supernatural creatures think of me. Quite frankly, it's exhausting. Most of the paranormal community treats humans like we're helpless children. Or food.

Vampire bats enter the banquet hall. They fly into a formation of ancient symbols before shifting to land on the dance floor in their human forms. The synchronized dance moves look well-rehearsed.

Showoffs.

As a Devine, I'm protected, but that doesn't mean an occasional drunken guest hadn't tried to snack on me over the years.

A reedy laugh catches my attention, and I cringe. I sink into my chair to hide behind the flower centerpiece.

Chester Freemont.

Why did Lady Astrid invite that tool?

Chester is the man who thankfully got away after a series of botched dates set up by my parents. They pushed him on me like he held the last life vest on the Titanic. I'm smart enough to know I don't want to marry a supernatural, even if he is a Freemont, and especially one who openly admires the stable of mistresses his father keeps. I'd rather be alone.

I watch Chester pass. He doesn't see me, and I let my captured breath go.

Where the hell are those waiters carrying liquor trays? I do not want to be sober right now.

A brood of vampires saunter by like they're starring in a Dracula reunion tour.

"Well, if it isn't our little Tiddy Mun." Leviathan appears and blocks my view of the vampires. He's in a dark, floor-length cloak with openings for two black sleeves.

I cringe at the nickname. It might mean bog creature to the over five hundred crowd, but to the rest of society, the term is one that humans would use to denote a rather unblessed chest size.

He grins as if proud of his teasing. Him and the sixty other people who came before him with that same tired joke.

Tiddy Mun is a child-sized bog spirit from England that appears in the mist and is followed by the sound of running water. When I was little-little, before Conrad came to live with us, I couldn't keep up with Anthony and his friends. So I cried. A lot. Anthony started summoning mist when I tried to go with them on their little adventures, so his friends teased me and gave me the name. Kids being asshole kids was one thing. But it stuck with the older crowd.

"For you." Leviathan hands me a small brown box. "Happy birthday, Tamara."

When an elder from the Sacred Delegation gives you a present, the recipient should know better than to refuse. I make a show of peeking inside the box at the ring. The stone setting is made to look like an eyeball. "It's beautiful."

"You should wear it," he instructs, wagging his eyebrows. "It's enchanted with an old family recipe."

A loud crash sounds across the banquet hall, followed by laughter as some of the guests mock a member of the waitstaff. I feel sorry for the person. This is a rough crowd to serve. The later it gets, the rougher they get.

Leviathan frowns at the commotion. "I take it your brothers are here."

"I haven't seen them," I lie.

"Hum."

I force a smile. "It's good to see you again, Elder Leviathan. Give my best to your wife."

Levi's wife passed years ago, but he summons her nightly to his bed.

And that is why necromancers are more than a little creepy. It's also why there is no way in hell I'm putting that ring on my finger. Under no circumstances do I want a necromancer's gift.

"Until we meet again, Tiddy Mun." Like the others, he leaves me to mingle with the more influential members of my family. I'll say it again. This party isn't about me. It is an excuse to get an informal audience with the Devine matriarch—my mother.

I set the jewelry box on the table and flick it away with my fingertips. I might be human, but I'm no fool.

"What did that dirty old man want?" Conrad sets two scotch glasses on the table and slips into the seat beside mine. I breathe a sigh of relief to see him.

"To give Tiddy Mun her birthday present." I gesture toward the ring.

Conrad frowns at the nickname even as he reaches for the jewelry box. He looks inside. "Creepy ass bastard."

"I'm sure he means well." I feel a little guilty. Leviathan is a longstanding family friend. "He said it was an old family recipe or something. It's probably an heirloom."

"I've read about this design. It's the original peeping tom," Conrad says.

I curl my lip and shrug, not understanding.

"Peeping tom?" Conrad repeats, tapping the lid of the box with a chuckle. "The perv wants to spy on you. It's like a magical live cam peep show. Nothing sicker than a motivated necromancer."

"Ugh!" I recoil from the box.

"Incoming," Conrad says under his breath before taking a drink.

"There you are, Tamara." Uncle Mortimer materializes out of thin air, causing me to jolt in surprise.

"Uncle Mortimer." Conrad lifts his glass and takes another drink.

Mortimer ignores him. He briefly studies me before saying, "You look…well."

"Thank you." I start to stand, but he holds up his hand to stop me.

"Our gift for you. Since there is a time urgency, what with your circumstances, I thought I should make sure you saw it." Mortimer hands me a catalog and a pen.

"Oh?" I arch a brow.

"Since at twenty-eight and mortal, you don't have much time left, Tamara," he explains. I really wish he wouldn't have. "Circle your choice, and we'll have it constructed. I put stars by my favorites."

I smile politely as I glance down at a catalog of tombstone designs and high-end mausoleums. I feel the expression freezing on my face. Conrad snickers behind his glass and turns away to hide his laugh.

"The collection on page sixty-three holds up. We've had friends buried under those for nearly a hundred years, and they maintain well." Mortimer reaches out as if to touch me, hesitates, and then pats me lightly on the head. "Happy birthday, dear heart."

Somehow, I manage to keep smiling. "So kind of you."

Mortimer sighs and nods sadly before teleporting himself to the other side of the room.

"Stop laughing." I kick Conrad's leg. "It's not funny."

"If nothing else, our family is entertainingly full of assholes," Conrad answers, snatching the catalog. He starts flipping through it. "Let's pick the most expensive one."

"Let's not."

Stopping on a page, he lifts it to show a pink-tile-inlaid mausoleum option next to a hand-drawn star. "Ooh, pink! Your favorite. I bet we can get Lady Astrid to put up twinkle lights."

"I hate you a little right now," I mutter.

"No, you don't," Conrad dismisses. "You love me."

"Like I love a common cold I can't get rid of."

"Be nice. You need me." His attention turns toward a leprechaun, and he tosses back the rest of his drink and stands. "Drink that. You'll need all your vitamins and nutrients to get through tonight."

I take a big gulp of the liquor. It burns its way down my throat, but I'm used to it. I've been drinking a lot longer than I'll admit to.

"Meet me in the back hallway by the restrooms," he says. "I'm going to see if I can score some gold nuggets for us and luck into party favors that are a little stronger."

"That is the sweetest thing I've heard all day." I lift my scotch to carry with me as I attempt to slip through the crowd.

It's hard going. No one steps aside to let me pass. I bump into a cold arm. Even clothed, he feels like an ice cube. My eyes lift to Costin's and quickly dart away. His long, black hair is pulled up at the sides. He exudes an intense magnetism when I'm near him that I don't get off the other bloodsuckers. I've heard vampires can mesmerize. I don't want to give him a chance.

"Hello, little castoff." His tone is low and seductive, meant to draw humans in. I'm not falling for it. His hand lifts, and I see long fingernails reaching from pale fingers.

"Thanks for coming," I murmur, stepping back so he doesn't touch me. "Enjoy the party."

I arc around two goblins. Someone taps my shoulder, and I feel a tiny wave of energy tingling its way up my arm. The small infusion of magic makes me lightheaded. I take a few steps before turning. The crowd blurs.

"There she is!" Anthony hooks my arm and swings me around. The family's golden boy is all smiles. "Come on, birthday girl."

I blink heavily. "Where?"

"To the real party," he says.

He weaves me through the crowd, guiding me past the supernaturals. Unlike me, they part in respect for him to pass. A few of them state their birthday wishes, and I do my best to smile as Anthony answers them for me. He's a master at the small talk and quick getaways. When he cuts off a conversation, the other person never feels like he's shortchanging them.

We round the corner away from the crowd into the long hallway leading to the restrooms. I sigh in relief. The murmur of conversation follows us, but we're alone in the hall.

Anthony drops my arm and begins dancing backward. His movements don't keep time with the classical music. Grinning, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a joint. He waves it between us. "The best spell humans ever cast is right here in this little piece of forgetting."

I feel a little off balance, and my path weaves as I follow him. He stops by a janitor's closet, looks both ways and then lifts the joint to his lips like a finger. "Shhhh."

Anthony does a series of knocks like he's entering a secret clubhouse. The door cracks open, and a hand darts out to pull Anthony inside. I follow, hearing laughter.

Anthony reaches for my arm and jerks me inside the closet. I've met Anthony's secret a few times. Louis is a pleasant enough guy. I doubt he's ever met a party he didn't like. The couple had met on a beach in Miami, and Louis dresses like he's still there with rolled suit sleeves and pastel colors.

"Happy birthday, Tam-tam," Louis says, kissing both my cheeks. "Welcome to Club Janitor."

Anthony tucks the joint behind my ear with a laugh and hands me a lighter before giving his boyfriend attention.

Our parents have many rules, none of which are designed around our happiness. I've never seen Anthony happier than he is in these stolen moments. For that reason alone, I'll always keep his secret. You'd think supernaturals would be more tolerant. They don't care what happens behind closed doors, but Anthony is expected to marry a powerful woman and carry on the bloodline.

The liquor has hit me hard. I should have eaten something before, but that doesn't stop me. If anything, being drunk only helps fuel my questionable decisions. I don't want to be at this party. I don't want to be me. I don't want to feel my death hovering overhead like a cartoon anvil.

The thump of dance music sounds from Louis' phone as he places it on a wooden shelf. The man moves like we're at a nightclub.

As I light the joint, time becomes a blur. I can see the music in the trails of light. My body moves, dancing as if I'm under a spell. I hear my brother laughing. Bits and pieces come through my fog—playful banter, chords of music, being shushed for singing too loud.

The only thing missing is Conrad. I forgot about Conrad.

I feel dizzy, and I hold my head. "I need to use the restroom."

I fumble for the door knob.

"Take your time," Anthony says playfully, smiling at Louis. They begin kissing, and I know this party is suddenly too crowded for the three of us.

I slip out of the closet. It's only pure luck that no one sees me.

Leaning my arm against the wall to stay upright, I slide to the ladies' room. The light seems brighter in the restroom, and I flinch, shading my vision. Stumbling to a stall, I feel the churn of liquor making a reappearance.

I lose time and wake up on the restroom floor inside a stall. The air feels thick inside my lungs, and I try to cough the sensation away. I don't even want to think about the taste in my mouth. I try to push up from the cold tiles, but it's as if my muscles are jelly.

Crawling on my hands and knees out of a restroom stall after having puked and passed out is not my finest moment. No one can see me like this. I need to get back to the closet to hide. Anthony will help me get home safely.

The air smells wrong. White smoke curls under the doorframe. I blink, wondering if it's real or if I'm hallucinating from the joint.

What the hell was that thing laced with?

I grab the handle and pull myself to my feet. The door swings inward under my stumbling weight. Smoke billows, filling the hallway. It hits me like a wall, knocking me to the floor. With each breath, scorching heat sears the walls of my lungs. Yet, somehow, I'm able to crawl on my stomach like a snake through the carpeted hallway away from the inferno that is the banquet room. Screams of panic disorientate me, and I want nothing more than to curl into a ball and make it all go away. But something inside me won't let me give up.

My head spins. I think about finding the janitor's closet, but that would be stupid. No one needs me to save them. What I need is to find a way out. Anthony will be fine. He's magical. He'll make sure Louis is safe, too.

I dig my toes against the floor to thrust my body forward. This has to be the right direction. Right?

Everything aches, and each breath tastes like burned vomit. My chest tightens, and I start coughing as my lungs desperately search for oxygen.

I never wanted this stupid party, and I sure as hell don't want to die here.